


Sirens

by Severina



Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Community: smallfandomfest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 22:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3185177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's no more states, no more borders. Just ragged little groups like his, trying to stay alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sirens

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's smallfandomfest for the prompt 'siren'.
> 
> * * *

_Beep-Beep-Beep._

Matt jerks awake, hand already reaching for the machete on the nightstand before reality sets in. The repetitive beep of John's watch alarm is nothing like the siren, and he lets his shoulders slump back onto the pillow, closes his eyes. His shift on watch will come soon enough, and he needs to sleep.

But the memories don't care about schedules, and the steady beep – until John grunts and slaps at his wrist – brings back the early days, when the city was a cacophony of sound; snarls and screams, the pounding of running feet, car horns and ambulance sirens and building alarms braying into the night. And then the weeks after, when the city was littered with the dead and they would throw the siren to announce another horde approaching the fenced-in playground beyond the row houses and everyone would rush into position, sleep-deprived and sloppy and barely able to defend themselves. Before they realized that the sirens just drew more of the rotters to their position.

Before John McClane arrived.

The lumpy mattress shifts as John rises. Cold air rushes to take the place of John's warmth, and Matt groans and tucks the threadbare blanket over his shoulder without opening his eyes. He doesn't move when he hears John bend to put on his boots or the creak of John's leather, nor when John stands over him for a long moment before resting a hand briefly on his head. He doesn't open his eyes until he hears the door close and John's heavy steps up to the bell tower. 

He rolls over onto his side, pulls John's thin pillow to his chest. It still smells like John and he tries to take comfort from that; let the familiar scent lull him back into sleep. But the sirens are still going off in his head and he can't let go of the mind-scenes of overturned cars and blood-stained faces and finally he slides from beneath the cover and tugs on his own boots. 

He ducks out of the sacristy and pads quietly to the altar, his eyes flitting over the bodies strewn among the pews. A few shift uneasily in restless sleep; more than a few are already awake even though dawn is still several hours away. The nightmares don't let anyone rest for long.

Matt catches Nick's eye, gestures to the little room behind the altar and raises a brow. The other man nods before turning to nudge his sister gently awake. The cot in the sacristy belongs to whoever has the current watch, but Matt knows he won't be sleeping again today so he may as well pass it on to someone else. It's supposed to be an opportunity to catch some real shut-eye before the necessity of extra alertness on watch, but Matt doesn't think anyone actually manages to take advantage of it. Except John. John sleeps like… well, not like the dead. Not anymore.

Matt lets himself take a sip of water from their limited supply before he trudges back to the hall. The freezing air hits him as soon as he opens the door that leads to the tower, and he tries to step softly but he's sure the creaking stairs alert John to his presence long before he reaches the open platform at the top. And sure enough, John is watching the stairs when he emerges onto the platform; nods at him before turning his attention back to the roads beyond the church.

"How's it look?"

He can just make out the lift of John's shoulder in the gloom. "Busy night. Few more coming in from the east."

Matt glances in the direction of John's jutting chin, but can't make out anything past the overgrown grass in the courtyard. Even the skeletal forms of the trees beyond the fence are nothing but darker shadows, and he certainly can't see anything moving out there. It's on the tip of his tongue to ask John how he can tell, but he stops. John just knows, the same way he always knows just when the tipping point is going to be reached and gets them moving before the fences come down and the walls crumble and the rotters spill in. 

His breath fogs in the air, and he shivers at a particularly strong gust of wind and tucks his hands beneath his armpits. He's not sure where they are; they abandoned the maps long ago, content as long as they stuck to the back roads and kept heading west. But wherever this burgh is – Nebraska or Wyoming or possibly even Colorado – it's colder than a witch's tit. Matt shakes his head. Doesn't really matter, anyway. There's no more states, no more borders. Just ragged little groups like his, trying to stay alive.

"We're almost out of water," Matt says.

"We'll get more tomorrow," John says. "Hit the stream before we head out."

Matt blinks. He knew it would be soon, but… "Tomorrow?"

"Got a bunch gathering at the front gate. Gonna be hell getting through them as it is. Another group comin' through the cemetery out back. Fence's wrought iron but they put enough pressure on it, it'll cave."

Matt nods. He'd hoped they'd have more time. Time to catch their breath after what happened at the bridge; time to rest up and gather their strength. But John knows. John always knows. Lily thinks it's a leftover cop thing, but Matt thinks it's just how McClane is built. He's got that instinct built into his sturdy bones.

Matt closes his eyes and leans against the wooden railing, a little overwhelmed at the thought of what has to be done. He'll need to organize a search party today, take one of the cars and head out to the west side of town to raid the stores there for anything of value before they leave this little hamlet for good. Inventory the food, and divvy it up between the vehicles. Assign drivers to the convoy. John will do some of it, but…

Matt looks up sharply at the sudden pop of gunfire from the valley. First a single shot, then another, until the night air is rent with the distant sound of weapons fire. His eyes strain in the gloom but he can barely see the fence that surrounds their temporary stronghold, never mind the other encampment in the valley. There were a dozen or more people bunkered down in that elementary school, surrounded by an ancient and rusted frost fence that ripples in a strong breeze. John had told them it wasn't safe when they parlayed, offered to let them join their forces with his, and now…

He winces when the school bell starts braying. 

"John?"

Matt leans back through the entranceway, can just make out Lily's pale face in the shadows at the bottom of the stairs. "It's okay," he tells her. The look on her face reminds him that of course it's not and her hand clenches once on the butt of the gun strapped to her hip, but she still nods and ducks back inside. 

In the little time it's taken him to reassure her, the gunfire has stopped. And after a moment even the echo of the gunshots fades. All that's left is the warbling of the bell.

"We'll leave in a few hours," John says. 

Matt looks over at John, but the other man is still gazing out over the town; past the fence line and the empty houses and toward the valley. And Matt knows he's picturing every single one of the people at the school, blaming himself for what is happening there right now. Thinking that if he had been more persuasive or hell, even used brute force, there would be twelve more people sleeping beneath the stained glass in the church tonight instead of being attacked. Ripped apart. Devoured.

Matt unclenches his hands from where they are wrapped around his torso, grips John's bicep instead and feels the thrum of taut muscles even beneath the leather. "John—"

"They're drifting off toward the noise," he says softly. "Won't have to fight them to get through the gate today. By tomorrow, they'll be back."

Matt blinks, looks from John's profile to the courtyard. He narrows his eyes, and can just make out dark figures separating themselves from the fence and staggering off toward the source of the sound. He'd taken that inky darkness to be the shadows from the trees, and the sudden realization of just how many rotters had taken up residence outside the church in the course of a few hours makes him shudder. "Jesus," he murmurs.

He turns back to John in time to see the haze of John's breath as he releases the tension in his body in a shaky exhale. Then John's arm is coming around his shoulders, and he lets himself be tugged forward when John turns to look at him and raises a hand to brush the wind-swept hair out of his face. Matt's not sure what John sees – he's never really perfected a poker face, and though he's gotten better at projecting confidence to the rest of the group, what he's feeling right now is pretty much abject terror. 

So many of them gathered at the fence. So goddamn many.

"We'll be all right," John says. His voice is a low rumble in the dark, the pads of his fingers soft on his skin as they brush against his cheek. "Got enough food to last a few more days, at least. Can still stop at the stream on our way outta town." 

"Yeah," Matt says. It comes out cracked and strained, and he swallows, wets his dry lips. "Yes," he says again, and this time the voice sounds more like his own. He tries not to think about how it takes less and less time for the rotters to surround their position every time they stop, or how low on fuel they are, or how the tiredness has worked its way into his bones until sometimes he practically feels like one of the undead himself.

"We'll be all right," John says again. He presses their foreheads together, and Matt looks into his eyes and for a moment, he believes it.

Matt nods, tucks his head against John's shoulder when John turns again to stare out into the night. He breathes in John's leather and dry leaves scent; lets himself clutch at the front of John's jacket as he gets his own breathing under control. In a few minutes he will have to go downstairs, start rousing people from their uneasy sleep and give them the unwelcome news that they have to move on. He will have to be Confident Matt, Self-Assured Matt, urging quietness and stealth as they work quickly to gather their belongings and organize their retreat. 

But for now, he can take comfort instead of give it. For now, there is just John warm and solid at his side, and the distant shrieking of the bell.


End file.
